The Beauty of Dragons
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Missing scene from GoF. During Hagrid's "cuppa" with Olympe Maxime, old demons are exorcised and new bridges are built.


The Beauty of Dragons

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Harry Potter

Copyright: JK Rowling

If anyone had told Hagrid a year ago that he would one day be making tea for an elegant Frenchwoman – let alone one as tall as he was – he would have been out of his mind with joy. Today, however, as he bustled around his cottage, making teacups rattle and trying not to trip over Fang, he felt more as if he had swallowed Gillyweed and was choking on the air.

The uneasy truce they had made after the night of the Yule Ball was about to break; he could sense it, as clearly as a Dementor could sense fear.

What should he say to her? Was she coming to talk about their mission from Professor Dumbledore, or about something else? Would she apologize for storming out on him the night of the Yule Ball? Should _he_ apologize for calling her a half-giant – even though it was true?

He was sixty-five, for Merlin's sake. How could she make him feel like a nervous schoolboy?

A sharp knock sounded on the doorbell. Hagrid jumped and ran to answer it.

Olympe Maxime stood by the doorway in all her glory, wearing a blue-and-white striped summer dress (vertical stripes, of course) and carrying a white parasol wide enough to shelter a small car. Her face beneath the shade was apprehensive, which made him feel the slightest bit better; at least he wasn't the only one.

"May I - "

"Will yeh - "

They spoke at the time, laughed nervously, and avoided each other's eyes as he held the door open for her.

"Right," he muttered, watching her fold her parasol. "C'mon in … there's tea if yeh like, or maybe a Firewhiskey … I got some cakes in the fire, should be almost ready by now … get back, Fang!" He seized the dog's collar, just in time to prevent him from leaving muddy paw prints on Olympe's dress.

"Sorry 'bout that, Madame."

Olympe only shrugged and bent down to scratch behind Fang's ears, smiling in a way that made Hagrid almost envy his pet.

"It is quite all right, 'Agrid. 'E is a good dog, _n'est-ce pas_?" She actually laughed as the big boarhound licked her face, a happy, unselfconscious laugh he had only heard from her once before, while she was visiting her flying horses.

As they sat down for tea, she even allowed the creature to put its head in her lap, ignoring the spots of drool he left on her skirt. Catching sight of the look on Hargid's face, she shrugged again, raising one many-ringed hand in the air as she continued to pet Fang with the other.

"I 'ave always had a liking for animals," she said. "Zey ... zey do not judge by appearances, if you know what I mean."

And here they were, at the of their last argument, and Hagrid still had no idea of what to say. So far, her visit was going better than he could have hoped, but one wrong word from him might still ruin everything. He turned away, under the guise of pulling the cakes out from the oven, and swallowed a curse because – yet again – they were burned.

"Yeah," he finally said, whisking a tea towel over the disaster and turning to face her. "Me too."

Olympe looked down at her smoking teacup, into which she had poured a generous helping of Firewhiskey, and swirled it between her hands.

"'Agrid," she began, "Zis mission … "

He braced himself for her refusal, for a repeat of her outburst in Professor Dumbledore's office the night before; another furious, ashamed denial of what was so obvious to everyone around her.

"If you and I are to travel togezzer," she said instead, "You should know ze truth about … about what I am."

She looked up at him with bright black eyes, more open and vulnerable than he had ever seen her before.

"I was foolish to lie, I know." She laughed bitterly. "I ask your pardon for zat. "Big bones' … what reasonable person would 'ave believed me? Yes, I am 'alf-giant. 'Oo better to send searching for monsters zan another monster?"

Hagrid's hands began to shake, making him distantly grateful not to be holding anything. A hot wave of anger on her behalf ran over him from head to toe; he wondered if this was how Hermione had felt, pounding on his door after the release of Rita Skeeter's article?

"Yer not a monster, a'right?" he growled, slamming both hands down on the table so that the place settings jumped. "Nor am I! Bad enough ter hear other folks callin' us that, without bringin' it on ourselves. It ain't easy, I know. Believe me, I know! When I read what that Skeeter woman wrote abou' me – d'yeh read it, by the way?" Olympe nodded, her lips pressed together, as if holding back her own tirade of insults for the nosy reporter. "I locked meself up in 'ere an' decided ter never come out … an' then, guess what some o' me students did."

He smiled, warmed and strengthened by the memory of their words during what had been one of his darkest hours. "They banged on that door an' shouted at me," he said, "'Til I promised ter come back and teach. _They _didn't care what me mum was, see? Still liked me fer who I am. An' I'd bet on a year's wages, Madame, that _your_ students would do the same fer you."

Olympe smiled back shakily. Something glittered in the corners of her eyes, making them more beautiful than any cosmetics ever could.

"Ze students of Beauxbatons do not shout," she said, drawing herself up with mock severity. "'Owever, I do understand what you mean."

Hagrid sat down, tension draining out of him with a sigh. It meant the world to him to see the proud Headmistress of Beauxbatons like this: perched on his handmade wooden chair, letting Fang ruin her outfit, and speaking to him honestly and humbly. For the first time, he did not see her as someone above him, but as an equal.

"You are a fortunate man, 'Agrid," she said.

_I am since I met you,_ he thought, but instead he asked: "How?"

She looked around at his open fireplace, the herbs and cured meat hanging from the cottage rafters, the furniture he had carved himself, and the tray of burned cakes under the towel, but without a trace of pity or contempt.

"You are a child of love," she said softly. "With all my wealth and success," she flashed the opal ring on her right hand, "Zat is an honour I cannot claim."

Silence fell, broken only by Fang's quiet snores and the thumping of his tail against the floor.

Olympe made a visible effort to compose herself, wiping her eyes with a lace handkerchief and taking a deep breath. "You 'ave 'eard, I believe," she said, in a detached, professorial tone of voice, "Of a certain madman named Gellert Grindelwald?"

"Who hasn't?" said Hagrid, wondering what this had to do with her.

Olympe's dark eyebrows narrowed in disgust. "Zen you must know zat man was obsessed wiz making ze European wizard population superior to Muggles in every way. Not only in magic, but intelligence, strength … and size."

Not being as stupid as Rita Skeeter made him out to be, Hagrid could guess at what she was about to say next. He gripped the edge of the table so hard, a sliver of wood broke off.

"My mother was abducted, cursed wiz an Imperius and an Engorgement Charm, and left for ze giants to find," she continued, as calmly and clinically as if she were discussing an experiment in herbology. Only the trembling of the teacup in her hands gave her feelings away. "She died when I was born. I was still a baby when Grindelwald fell. I do not know 'ow 'is experiment would 'ave continued, if zey would 'ave kept me or … " She took a large swallow of her whiskey-laced tea, possibly as an excuse to hide her face.

"Bloody hell," Hagrid breathed. "I'm so sorry, Madame. So sorry … "

He could not wrap his mind around the possibility of such evil; not even Voldemort would have done _that_ to an innocent woman.

"My sentiments exactly," Olympe replied grimly. "If zat _salaud_ were not already behind bars, I would make 'im pay."

Judging by the dangerous spark in her black eyes, he had no doubt that she would.

"My aunt took me in," she concluded simply, "And raised me for 'er sister's sake, but … she never cared for me, nor I for 'er. She left me a fortune, and so I put it to good use by building my school. It is a great success, if I say it myself," with a hint of her usual pride, "But, to tell you ze truth … I would give up every _centime _of it for a father like yours."

Her eyes went to the photograph Hagrid had taped to the wall. It showed his father sitting on the shoulder of his eleven-year-old, eight-foot-tall self, both of them smiling in the sunshine of a long-gone summer. Most strangers would have found it bizarre, but to him, it was a treasured reminder of his father's love.

He had been poor in Galleons all his life, but in love, he had inherited a fortune. He wanted nothing more than to share it with the woman sitting opposite him.

"Thank yeh," he said. "Fer tellin' me … trustin' me."

"You will tell nobody." It was not a question.

"Swear it on me old dad's grave."

She nodded solemnly, content to take his word. He would not break it this time; he promised himself; he had learned a great deal about discretion since Harry's first year.

"Olympe … can I call yeh Olympe?"

"But of course."

"I've got somethin' else ter tell yeh … somethin' I never got 'round ter sayin' at the Yule Ball."

"I am listening." She lowered her voice to a purr, just as she had that night by the fountain, and leaned forward to watch him with heavy-lidded eyes.

"Remember that time I showed yeh the dragons?"

"Oh, yes." She chuckled. "You naughty man, giving away ze first task."

"Couldn' help it," he confessed. "I had ter show yeh."

"May I ask why?"

The way she was playing with her pearl necklace, winding it between her fingers so close to the low neckline of her dress, was terribly distracting. Was she doing it on purpose?

"'Cause y'know, dragons … they're pure wild. Can' be tamed. Don' care what anyone thinks of 'em … don' obey no laws but their own. I used ter think there was nothin' more magnificent than a dragon breathin' fire … until I met you."

Olympe dropped her pearls and lowered her eyes. With her olive complexion, it was difficult to tell, but he could have sworn he saw a blush rising on her face.

"Because we are so conveniently ze same size, you mean?" she asked, rather sharply, a defense he was learning to recognize.

"It's more than that," he said. "Sure, it started out that way … never thought I'd meet another half-giant, let alone such a fine lady … but then I got ter know yeh, an' I saw how yeh are with yer students an' yer animals … yeh'd go through hell an' high water fer them, wouldn' yeh? Jus' like I would fer mine."

He remembered her fierce indignation at Harry Potter's appointment as the second Hogwarts Champion, demanding that Beauxbatons have an equal share; her concern for the health of her flying horses after their journey; her open admiration for the dragons; most of all, her courage in accepting Dumbledore's mission, which made him admire her all the more now that he knew her story.

"You really do 'ave feelings for me," said Olympe, her eyes flying open.

She sounded shocked, which made his heart ache just a little; with all her worldliness, she should not have been shocked by love.

"I'd'a thought that was obvious," said Hagrid, blushing through his beard.

Olympe laughed – but it was not the mocking laugh he had dreaded, or even the silly little giggle he often he heard from female students talking about their boyfriends. It was the low, musical, triumphant laugh of a very happy woman, and it was the most alluring sound he had ever heard.

"_Eh bien,_" she said, rising smoothly from her chair. "In zat case, my dear … _pardon, _I forgot to ask – what _is_ your given name?"

"Er … Rubeus. Why?"

"Like the jewel, hmm?" Careful not to step on Fang, she sauntered over to Hagrid's chair, leaned in close, and traced the curve of his blushing cheek with her hand.

"My dear Rubeus," she purred, "I could not ask for a better companion … in every sense of ze word."

Moments later, the sleeping dog woke up to find himself unceremoniously evicted from the cottage, as his master needed privacy to properly entertain their lady guest. Fang flattened his ears and slunk off through the pumpkin patch, barking at insects, pouncing on a nest of Knarls and feeling deeply insulted.

Little did he know this would turn out to be one of the happiest days of his master's life.


End file.
